Mom, Me and Wife

While You Were Gone

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
All, Death, Opinion Leave a Comment

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Mom, Me and WifeIt’s been a long year. From the moment you left to this one right here. Ignore the rhyme, it’s unintentional, but helps make my point clear.

You’ve missed a lot since you went away; I met many of your friends, from Orangeville to Salt Lake, there are a lot of people out there who love you. Still, it was nice to meet the people, meet the faces that belong to the stories you told me over the years. Nice to hear stories you hadn’t yet shared and gain just that much more insight into who you are. Well, who you were.

I wrote another book, this one stands in memoriam to you. As you told me before, I did just what you would have wished, every dirty detail, every single moment. All wrapped up in a nice little package and out on display for all of the world. But I didn’t stop there. With all of your photos on CDs galore, I picked and poked and composed a little something for you. Forever your name will live in Internet glory. At least as long as Amazon maintains their dominance and authority.

But you also missed what you inspired. Content to stay in New York and not venture too far, I realized time is short and there’s no time to waste. A trip to Paris, seven days too short. An entirely different world with friends along for the ride; one truly incredible time. You made that possible. Thank you. Though I wish you were around to laugh at the drunken photos.

Oh, and you’d like to know, my friends have finally found a wine glass large enough to satisfy my thirst. It fits an entire bottle. Yes, the whole thing. I’m sure there’s a beer mug equivalent we could have found for you. Though you’re not here to share the drinks, I’ve grown closer to my dad, as he does his best to fill two roles. Though I’m an adult, I’m a needy adult. I require constant attention and accolades, of which you had no issue. Though your cheers have faded, his cheers have risen, so I can’t complain.

And on this day, as we count down the hours to the end of 2014, it comes to mind that things now have to change. I will never have known you in this new year, we’ll never have spoken, even though it’s been months since I’ve tried to call. Rather than let sadness dampen the day, I say, cheers to you and for all that remains. So this is goodbye, at least for this moment. And until next year and our next conversation, I’ll do my best to fill every moment.